In Absentia
by AleTheHOUSEwife
Summary: COMPLETE! Wilson hesitated for a brief moment. "House was a good man, Julie." He declared. "Not in the traditional sense, but he was the most... decent, thoughtful human being that I ever met." "That's saying something." Julie raised her brows. "I've heard stories about him." "All true. He was a dick to everyone of us."
1. Chapter 1

In Absentia

Princeton, New Jersey  
May 20th, 2012

Julie Paulson felt the very act of crossing the threshold to Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital with all of her bodily perceptions scarily enhanced, and that brought chills down her spine and a strange sense of missing air in her lungs and the ground below her soles.

_Wow._

She threw a quick glance around the main hall: it was pretty, and she found that unusual for a hospital. Polished, wooden panels covering the walls, flowers decorating the nurse station, nice, relaxingly nuanced paintings hanging all around and glassy sliding doors you could easily get a peek through, to what seemed a walk-in clinic on the left side, and the Dean's rooms on the right.

Julie knew where to go. As much as she has anticipated that moment, she was now completely clueless regarding how to bring about the actual conversation _with the actual person_.

_Hello, doctor House. I'm Julie. I need to talk to you..._

She bit her lower lip. That was dull.

_Hi, I'm Julie. Can we talk?_

No. _No, no and fucking no._

It had taken her all day to get herself to where she was. Upon landing in Newark, she had tried her best to waste the day between the transfer from the airport to her friend Amila's campus accommodation in Princeton and a quick tour with her. Of course, she had told Amila what was behind her trip, and her friend had eventually forced her into the hospital before sunset.

"You won't go tomorrow. I know you won't, Julie." She had declared. "It needs to be today or never. I've known you long enough."

And then she had left, disappeared into the breezy atmosphere of a late-spring sunset on her Indian flats, her sari dress waving into the golden dimming light.

The elevator door shifted closed.

_Department of Diagnostics - 4__th__ floor_

Julie pressed the button. She had almost wished to miss it, go somewhere else before realizing she had lost her way to his office, and then find him gone for the night. But the label read what she was looking for, and that was unmistakable: there was no way of fooling herself into making any mistakes. Upon reaching the fourth floor, she cautiously peeked into the hallway. She didn't want to bump into him before having a chance to calm down, take a breath, have one last bout of second thoughts. It was deserted though, silent and empty. Julie stepped out of the elevator.

Wilson sat down at House's desk. From where he was, he tried to see what House saw every day, the way House saw every day, trying to catch his late friend's perspective, trying to photograph the surroundings exactly as his friend's eyes would photograph them. He tried to engrave those pictures in his mind, knowing that those walls and objects and lights were among the last sights that had encountered House's blue irises as he contemplated the possibility of a last escape, as he envisioned his own final disappearance, his fall into oblivion, before the fire in the warehouse and the definitive, heartbreaking glance the two of them had exchanged. Wilson's sight got teary. He heaved a suffocated sigh, but the ever-present, dull chest pain from the tumor hit him in an angry twinge of unexpected intensity. Coughing tiredly, Wilson screwed his eyes and brought a hand to his mouth.

_Let it just be over._

Trying to catch his breath, he got dizzy and nauseous.

_Please._

But then, as it came, the stinging pain left, and Wilson was left with a pounding, sudden headache that a good night sleep and a dose of ibuprofen would chase away one more time, who knew for how long still. He sat back, eyes shut, hands entwined upon his forehead, recovering from the scare of one of his first nearly respiratory crises.

"Doctor House?"

Wilson's eyelids blinked open. His eyes focused on a person standing in the doorframe. A thin, curly-haired young woman wearing sandals and a maxi dress with flower prints was shyly waving at him. Her figure was petite, and the freckles on her cheeks and nose sweetened her expression, framing her bright blue eyes. The woman came closer. Her knuckles blanched as she fastened her grip on the tote bag she was holding to her chest with both hands.

"Doctor House? I'm..."

"I'm doctor Wilson." He stood up. "Doctor House is not here, I'm sorry."

Wilson regretted his flat pitch, cold expression almost immediately as the woman's surprised, disappointed stare hit him.

"I'm sorry." She whispered. "Thought it was his office."

Wilson couldn't help but fix his eyes into hers. He then shifted to the shape of her face, her fair hair color and complexion.

"It's six o'clock." He noted. "Kind of unusual for an appointment."

"Yeah..." She escaped eye-contact with him for a brief moment, but then her lips turned upwards in a warm smile as she held out her hand. "I'm Julie Paulson. I just... wanted to see him about something."

Wilson stood in silence. Was it time to break the news yet? Julie went for a sticky note on House's desk and scribbled down a name, email and phone number.

"This is me." She stuck the note to the Phrenology head model sitting on the desk. "Just tell him I'll be back."

This said, she dashed out in a scent of strawberry and shampoo.

_Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. _

Julie stepped out of the elevator, back into the entrance hall. The sun had eventually set and it was dark and windy outside. She hated the man for not being there, as if he had to know she would come today. All of a sudden, her courage was fading away, possibly, she feared, forever. How could she come back here, risk a_nother goddamn heart attack_ just to find a sickly guy sitting at _his _desk with the saddest eyes and the coldest handshake? Julie felt like crying. Since the day her parents had died, almost exactly one year earlier, since she had left Jake in January, she felt she was ready for a good old breakdown. She plopped down tiredly on a bench in the waiting area and screamed into her tote bag, letting out every sigh she had retained for months and weeks. Nobody was there to see her anyway. This wasn't a hospital of the regular kind, with blood and tear and dirt and fussy newborns and yelling mothers and... this was a quiet place. A hospital where nighttime meant quiet and occasional polite elderly women coming in for a stomach ache, occasional polite parents coming in with feverish infants. Nothing scary, no gore, just the immaculate white coat of the on-call physician in charge of the clinic and the few people waiting their turn for a check-up.

"Julie."

She lifted her eyes. The doctor she had just met in House's office was standing in front of her. _He _wore that immaculate white coat. He was the on-call physician.

"I thought you were here to see doctor House." He whispered.

"I was."

"If you're not feeling well, you found the right place." He smiled. "We have a walk-in clinic, House gets the tough cookies only."

Julie wiped one last tear with the back of her hand.

"No." She smiled back at him. He seemed gentler than before. Actually, she felt reassured by his touch on her shoulder, like everything was not lost. "No, I was just here to see doctor House. I'm not sick..." She took a breath. "I'm his daughter."

* * *

Wilson froze.

_She's his what._

Julie stood up, trying to get herself together. "I'm Julie, doctor House's daughter."

"I'm James. _Wilson_." He whispered. "I work here."

Julie giggled, pointing at Wilson's white coat and name tag. "I had my suspicions. Do you know him?"

Wilson's head spun multiple times in search for an anchor point. This time, though, it wasn't most certainly from the cancer. It was utter, complete, pristine surprise.

"Yeah."

Julie turned serious. "Look, I'm sorry I broke the news this way. Just..." She wound a lock of hair around her finger. "This is _private_... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you. Please," she joined her palms. "Please, try to forget I was even here. I'll be back."

This said, she headed for the entrance and disappeared into the dark.

"Julie! Hey..." Wilson ran after her. "Julie!"

_Goddammit, House._

He caught her just outside.

"Julie." He called once more, softly this time. She turned back to him.

"You should come back inside." He whispered.

Julie felt her heart beats getting louder and heavier. "What? What's wrong?"

Wilson got closer, slightly out of breath.

"There's..." He swallowed. "There's something I need to tell you."

She sat frozen, nothing was betraying her feelings. Wilson was ready for anything, but at this point he could not imagine how to resolve that predicament in which Julie was showing no feelings whatsoever over the news that her father had just committed suicide.

"I'm sorry." He sat back into his office chair. His almost empty study was crushing him in its emptiness. Everything he had always known was being washed away by the events of the last months. His terminal illness, House's shocking death, his job coming to an end. And now a twenty-something dressed in flowers and sandals claiming she was House's blood, a part of his best friend sitting in front of him, watching his own tragedy unfold before her, perfectly in control of her feelings.

"I'm sorry..." She whispered. "I am _so very sorry, _doctor Wilson."

"No, Julie..."Wilson shook his head. "You lost your father. You don't need to be sorry for me."

"I lost my father eleven months ago." Julie declared. "His name was Ben Paulson. He was a theatre teacher in college. He died with my mother in a car accident."

"That's terrible." Wilson noted.

"It is. You lost your best friend, I'm sorry for you. I know," She held out a sad smile. "I know it may look like I'm heartless, but I didn't know this man. I can't mourn a stranger."

"That's okay." Wilson dropped the teaspoon in his cup, realizing it had gotten so cold it was actually pointless to keep steering it, or drinking it whatsoever. "I'm just sorry you didn't have a chance to meet him."

Julie's stare was focused on a red, oversized tennis ball sitting on Wilson's desk. "How was he?"

_Good question._

Wilson hesitated for a brief moment. "He was a good man, Julie." He declared. "Not in the traditional sense, but he was the most... _decent_, thoughtful human being that I ever met."

"That's saying something." Julie raised her brows. "I've heard stories about him."

"All true. He was a dick to everyone of us." Wilson couldn't help the smile. "Whenever we were being pussies, lying, omitting. He hated cowardice, he hated rules, he hated lies more than anything."

"That's cool." She noted.

"That's how he couldn't save one single relationship he ever had, except from ours."

"Are you like him then?"

"No. I lie, Julie." Wilson took a deep breath. "A lot. I manipulate. I used to get him to do things I thought would help him improve himself, but that was arrogant of me, and he'd always catch me with my hands dirty in the process."

"You seem like a good person to me."

"_He_ was a good person. I just get by trying to do my best."

"You loved him very much." Julie whispered.

"Yes, Julie. I loved your father a lot."

Julie felt the air all around them become heavier, the atmosphere darker, and sadder. "Doctor Wilson..." She hesitated. "Do you know who Lisa Cuddy is?"

Wilson blinked the thousandth charge of tears away, staring fixedly at Julie he seemed to eventually be able to put together the final pieces of an inner puzzle of his.

* * *

"I tracked him down very easily. He's..." Julie giggled. "He was kind of famous, you know. World-renowned diagnostician, easiest to find when I researched his name."

"You did your homework, uh?" Wilson raised his brow. He and Julie sat in his living room, sipping Chianti from crystal stemware. He felt like he had to stay with her for some time, and that it would be cruel to just let her go back into her life without even trying to help her find a meaning in her coming to see her father.

"I did." Julie smiled. "My fiancé... my ex, Jake, he said I was going to ruin my own life embarking in this search, that I needed to recover from my parents' death first."

"Mh. That was... reasonable, I guess." Wilson sat back. "It's obvious you didn't listen."

"I left him."

"Jeez."

"He's not over us, but I just... needed to know. And he couldn't get his mind around it." Julie's eyes saddened. "I miss him. But I can't let him stay with a miserable, unsatisfied do-good-er with the complex of abandonment."

Wilson smiled. "You have no idea how many times I've had this conversation."

"With him?"

"Yeah."

They sat in silence for a while. Julie was comfortable, she felt safe and she realized how much she was enjoying Wilson's company, even though they were touching tough, private and sometimes unpleasant topics of conversation. She didn't feel an inch of embarrassment over talking to him, even though she had known him for just a few hours.

"I also left Jake because I'm moving to India." She suddenly declared.

Wilson couldn't help his surprise. "Wow. _Wow_. For how long?!"

"I don't know." Julie put the glass back onto the coffee table and propped her knees to her chest. "I'm a lawyer. Graduated last year from Stanford. I specialize in Human Rights and International Law."

"That's impressive." He noted.

"I don't know. I love my job. I won this internship for the UN, Women's Rights section. It's happening."

"Julie." Wilson turned serious to the point the atmosphere in the room got colder and darker.

She furrowed her brows, surprised at the sudden change of tone in the conversation. "What? What is it?"

"What do you know about your birth mother?" He asked, in a whisper.

Julie shook her head. "Nothing, doctor Wilson. She signed for my adoption, she declared who my father was, and that was it. He never signed anything, it's just her word and her name."

"Did you try to find her?"

"Not... not yet." Julie admitted. "With _him_ it was easier. Jake is a doctor and as soon as I told him, he was all over the internet, showing me his publications and stuff." Julie poured some more wine in her glass and sipped it. Wilson realized how graceful she was, and pretty. She didn't look much like either of her parents, except from a few details you had to know she was their child to actually link to them. She was thin, petite and curly-haired like Cuddy, and had House's blue eyes and serious expression. She was very feminine, without even having to underline it she just moved and sounded like she perfectly knew what she wanted at every second of her life, from one more sip of wine to finding out about her birth parents, or moving to the third world to work.

"So you gave up on your mother." Wilson said.

"No..." Julie realized she couldn't hide much from the guy. "I guess I still want to find her."

"And you started with House because it was easier."

"I started with him," Julie whispered. "Because he wasn't the one who put me up for adoption." Her lips trembled but she was able to keep it together. "His resumé says he attended Michigan as a post-grad and he was there in 1986, when I was born."

"Easier than looking up every Lisa Cuddy in the Country." Wilson noted.

"Yes." Julie hesitated before asking the question that was burning her lips to leak out. "Do you think _he_ knew about me, doctor Wilson?" She asked, choking the stem glass with her fingers.

Wilson didn't have to think twice. "Not at all, Julie. I think he had no idea."

"Okay." She seemed relieved. "It sucks enough that _she_ gave me up."

"Julie..." Wilson took her hand. "Julie, there's something you need to know."

"A night full of surprises." She replied, sarcastically.

Wilson ignored her remark. "Your mother."

"You know her." She whispered.

"I do. She's..." Wilson had to massage his chest to stop the subtle sense of suffocation he was starting to feel. He coughed heavily into his handkerchief, trying to ignore the blood stains on it.

"Hey." Julie got up and flushed Wilson's wine away in the sink, then poured tap water into his glass. She came back to the couch and sat beside him, holding the the glass for him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." He panted as he took the glass from Julie's hands. "It's nothing."

"Doesn't seem _nothing_ to me." She sat back as he stood up to get something from the cupboard. When she caught a sight of the shelves inside, Julie saw they were filled with medication. Yellow pill bottles, stacks of tablet blisters, liquids in brown jars that seemed to contain herbal substances, and a few syringes still in their plastic sterile packages.

"You run a pharmacy in here, uh?"

"I've terminal cancer."

Julie froze.

"Oh my god. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be rude. I'm _so _sorry, doctor Wilson." She stood up. "I won't bother you anymore, I'm going home. I've a plane to catch early tomorrow." She grabbed her tote and went for the door.

"Julie." Wilson swallowed his last pill for the night and reached for her on the door step. His smile was warm and sincere and caught her by utter surprise, once again this man was annihilating her awkwardness. "Julie, please. I'm okay. Come back inside. Tonight needs to be about you."

"I didn't know you were sick."

"I wasn't going to tell you. But I can't hide it much at this point."

"I'm sorry."

"I'm okay. I told you it's fine. I was about to tell you," Wilson took Julie by the hand, closed the door and led her to the couch, where he sat beside her. "I was about to tell you that I've known your mom for a long time."

She lowered her stare, trying to get her mind around those words. She had come for a person and found two.

"She's here too." She whispered.

"No. Not anymore." Wilson took a deep breath. The meds were working and he could finally have a refill of air to his lungs. "Lisa Cuddy used to be Dean of Medicine at PPTH. She and House worked together for a long time."

Julie's head was spinning. Her mother wasn't an elusive signature on a paper sheet anymore. She was _real. _She recalled seeing the Dean's room earlier in the hospital. Her mother had worked there for years while _she _was growing up in another place, with another family. Her mother and her father had worked side by side with Julie's life being a secret they never shared, a load of some sort that her mother had decided to carry alone.

"Cuddy and House..." Wilson didn't quite know where and how to start. "Your mom and your dad... they loved each other very much."

"She never told him I existed." Julie noted flatly.

"I don't know why she did that." Wilson shook his head. "Honestly, Julie... if there's something your mom must have told no one, it's that she had a child while in college."

"But she didn't even tell _him._" Julie's eyes filled with tears. "What if he wanted to be there?"

"Your parents were very much in love, Julie. But life got between them too many times."

"What's that even supposed to mean?" She asked, sarcastically. "My adoptive parents loved each other, and lived their lives together, not apart."

"I'm just saying..." Wilson was trying to make it sound like it made sense. But today he was starting to doubt that anything in House and Cuddy's relationship had ever done so. "A few very... _grave _things happened between them."

"And I was one."

"No. No, Julie." Wilson smiled. "This hasn't much to do with you."

"She has kept a secret from him for twenty-seven years, doctor Wilson."

"I know. But I can see why she did that."

"Can you."

"Yes. She was eighteen, Julie. In early 1986 he was expelled from medical school and they never got a chance to meet again until well after your birth."

"But she didn't even tell him I existed." Julie whispered. "How can you see someone _every day _and keep such thing a secret?"

"It must have been hard for her to bring it up again after so long."

"..."

"Julie, there's something I want to ask you." Wilson sat up, hands joined and elbows pointed to his thighs. "Did you love your adoptive parents?"

Julie's eyes got glassy. A tear rolled down her cheek. "A lot." She replied, throatily.

"Were they a good family to you?"

"Yes. Yes, they were. They loved me very much."

"Okay." Wilson nodded. "Then, please, try to picture your eighteen year-old mom, expecting a child with some guy ten years older, someone she didn't know she'd meet again, be with."

"This is not an excuse for lying."

"No, it isn't. You're absolutely right." Wilson agreed gently. "But she was just young, and she must have figured you'd have a better life with a real family. Which is what happened."

"I know. I don't blame her for that." Julie whispered. "No, I do. I _do_ blame her. But I see your point."

"Their next encounter was much later. When you were ten, House was hired at PPTH, where your mom was completing her residency."

"Wow."

"She was great, Julie. She is great." Wilson smiled. "She became a fellow a year later. Her life has never been easy, and I see much of what she did under a different light, now that I know about you."

"So they met again in, like, 1996?"

"Yes. Four years after, he was fired." Wilson shook his head. "He'd make no deals, he'd break every rule he stumbled upon. The Board couldn't handle him." He smiled. "Then, your mom became Dean."

"Wow."

"She was 32, just in on the position: second youngest ever, first woman."

"And she rehired him?" Julie asked.

"She's always had a soft spot for him, and went out on a limb to get him to work for her. He was a difficult child." Wilson joked. "The Board wasn't very happy about having him run wild and free, this time as a tenured Head of Department."

"But he was a genius."

"Yes, that he was for sure. And Cuddy got him hired and tenured and running wild and free and all that stuff."

"She went against the board?!" Julie was really into the story at this point. It wasn't even sad or frustrating anymore. She was starting to feel like the void she had felt her whole life was starting to fill up with information.

"She did. And she won them over with the incredible rate at which your father saved lives." Wilson stood up to put the tea kettle on. "Gregory House _saved lives_."

"You're gonna put that in the eulogy."

"Yes, I think I am."

Julie stood too and went for the kitchen table, against which she leaned back, casually. It was so easy to talk to this man, to share her doubts and thoughts and questions.

"Are you angry that he left you just now?" She asked.

Wilson didn't answer immediately, but she could see his shoulders get heavier, the back of his head lower down a bit. He leaned against the sink, sustaining his weight with both hands.

"Yes." He whispered, without turning back to her.

Julie went closer and put her palm on Wilson's shoulder, knowing there was nothing more she wanted to get from him if it meant he had to suffer like that through every word.

"Thank you, doctor Wilson." She gently got him to turn to her and hugged him for a few, intense seconds during which Wilson felt his loneliness a bit lighter, its weight lifted for a fraction of time.

He kissed her on the forehead.

"Good luck, Julie. Be brave."

"You too." Julie smiled.

Then, she walked out in the chilly night.

* * *

a/n – So. I've had this plot bunny in need for a home for, like, EVER. I still feel it's a silly idea and that I'm making a fool of myself writing it. But I needed to get this out and I am really, really trying to make it sound plausible and not too crazy or overly sentimental or anything. I just liked the idea of a "what if" in which Cuddy and House's nighter has more consequences that it actually had in canon. Feel free to read and review, there will be a second part to this and it'll be all there's going to be. Thank you for the love!

TIMELINE:

Cuddy - She's born in 1968 according to House MD Wikia, so in 1986 she is 18, attending pre-med at U-Michigan. More sources: episode where Cuddy tells Cameron "I was an undergrad, he was already a legend."

House - Born in 1959, he's 25 in his last year of med school at Johns Hopkins from which he is expelled and goes to U-M on a provisional basis, waiting to know if he can be readmitted or not. He's not readmitted. Source: House MD Wikia. Known Unknowns.

Julie - Born in September-ish 1986.

1996: House meets Cuddy again when he goes to work at PPTH, about ten years prior to his infarct (source: Vogler arc).

1999: House is fired from PPTH (Vogler arc).

2000: leg accident. Stacy leaves House.  
Cuddy, now Dean at 32 (Detox, Autopsy) rehires him.

2004: series starts.

2011: Cuddy leaves.

2012: Wilson dies. Series ends. Part 1 of story.

2013: time of narration of part 2.

- Cuddy/House age gap: in Under My Skin, House's hallucinates Cuddy telling him she just audited the class of Endocrinology he was attending, to be with him. This makes sense because she was an undergrad and he was in med school, so she could only audit the class and not get grades. That must have been freshman year for her, when she met him at the bookstore (Known Unknowns) and tracked him down to the class (KnUnkn, UMS) and then the party and the night together happened.

I'm going to stick with this timeline because it's in the actual episodes and it makes sense.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part Two**

October, 2013

Blue Creek, Mississippi

* * *

House ran his palm over the steamed-up window pane to wipe away the mist. He could see the surrounding land through the veil of the seemingly never ending downpour that had began two days earlier and still hadn't set. He could see the fog lingering over the crops of corn and tomatoes that next summer would warm the hills in colored stripes, and the swing set he and Wilson had built for the kids was swaying in the strong wind of Fall, its wet nylon rope knotted safely to the galvanized iron hanger they had stuck into the largest of the branches of the giant oak tree.

Inside the cabin, a gentle fire was burning inside the wooden fireplace, and a sharp smell of herbs filled the air all around. House dried his left hand onto the right sleeve of his flannel shirt, and adjusted the guitar on his thigh, the tip of his shoe pointed against the wooden wall panel, his chair pulled up to the window to enjoy the view of the rainfall over the deserted land. His bike was parked outside, covered up in a plastic sheet for protection against the elements.

Miles, his gray tabby tomcat, rubbed its chubby body against House's leg calf as he played a few somber chords, and looked up at him with the usual mellow expression of love.

"Meow."

"You ate two hours ago, buddy."

Miles decided it had been worth the try, and jumped up the couch, were he lied down on the folded woolen blanket, watching House from a distance, ready to seize the moment if and when he would stand to get something from the fridge.

House adjusted the tuning. One by one, he tested the strings, enjoying some secret pleasure in every vibration. The rain was keeping all of his patients from visiting, and the couple pregnancies that were coming to term that weekend were apparently willing to last just a little longer. Everyone in Blue Creek had given up the trip up the hill to see the doctor, and House couldn't help but smile at the line of whiny old women that would usually form in a sunny summer morning, battling their husbands to have them come to the clinic and be checked-up, or coming alone for the silliest of stomach aches or the lighter of coughs. The rain had clearly set some priorities into their right places, as he was having one of his very rare peaceful days with no one to attend to, no sick to administer to, no kids with broken wrists and sprained ankles, no childbirths, no angry countrymen with sunburns or back pains. _Nothing_. The other option, besides the utter luck of having an entire day without emergencies, was that he was being left alone intentionally by the small community who had known him for more than a year, because of _what_ today was.

House put down the guitar and sat back, a sorrowful wave filling up his chest.

_A year ago, on this day._

He welcomed Miles, who, as perfectly as it could read House's mind, came by and jumped to his lap.

_Wilson died one year ago, on this day._

He reached for the coffee table, where his medical instruments lay in order, shiny and perfect, inside an open case, ready to be checked out one by one, polished and then again sterilized in the basement outside the cabin, protected by small, transparent pouches for subsequent uses. House took a 10-blade scalpel from the case and brought it close to the bridge of his nose.  
It was a beautiful, silvery stainless steel piece in the shape of a crescent. The slightest of touches could have cut a straight line into the skin. House had always loved those few seconds of wait, right after the incision but just a moment before the bleeding started: you could see the drawing of your hand on the immaculate, blanching square inch of skin and it was perfect and pure, and all in the room would wait for you to say something like "Retractors" or "Suction" but you'd stand silent, because no blood would be there yet. Those were just brief moments, and most often House would have been observing more than leading the surgery, especially since Foreman had become Dean. But the thrill of the wait was still exciting. And he used to love that. He loved it because it was similar to any of his life experiences: all of them had been all that had mattered at some point, the only reason for being there, living that particular moment. Before the first drop of blood, before the first mistake.  
The blade shifted from House's face to his neck and chest.  
_This won't be painful._  
He lifted up his other hand and caressed the scalpel with his open palm, eyes fixed into the sharp crescent. It was cold.  
Miles jumped off House's lap.

The blade fell to the floor.

* * *

**One year earlier**

* * *

_Letter One_

October, 2012

Dear Julie,  
I hope this finds you happier and at more peace with your life than when we last met. I'm emailing you because at this point I'm not sure I'd have the physical and emotional strength for picking up the phone and having an actual, meaningful and long-enough conversation with you. I hope you don't mind that I'm resorting to this old-fashioned habit of writing, but I do feel this is a more appropriate way to talk to you about something that has happened a few days after you left Princeton, back in May.  
After House committed suicide, I was angry. You know about that because I was kind of out of my mind from grief the night we met, and I hope I didn't upset you with some of the things I said about him. Your father is alive, Julie.  
I am so utterly sorry and I hope this is not yet another shock for you, given what happened to your adoptive parents and then the entire Princeton night. But I'd never forgive myself if I died without telling you. I was wrong about what he did, and I beg you to forgive me and to forget those words I said about his cowardice and my anger at him leaving me because he couldn't cope with my terminal illness. I was wrong. I was completely wrong and I cannot forgive my own self if we parted with me leaving you with an image of him that was shadowed by a suicide he never resolved to commit. Your father and I met again after the funeral. Everybody in Princeton knows that he died that night in the fire, but he didn't. He faked it to avoid jail time for something he'd done beforehand, but I don't even want to discuss that: I won't be the one talking to you about his life, not anymore. I don't have any rights to tell you anything about him, because he's here and you need to find him, Julie, and forgive him, may this be the very last thing I beg of anyone, I beg you to find your father.  
If and when we shall meet again, I look forward to seeing you. If, though, my fate will want otherwise and you won't find me at your father's side when you meet him, please remember that I love him very much and I want him to be happy and find meaning in himself even after I'm gone. I hope you can be for him what you were meant to since the very first day of your life. If not, I hope meeting your father can give you closure and that you can fulfill your dreams and aspirations. You are, for what I have seen in you, a beautiful mind and a brave soul, and your parents did a wonderful job raising you. You have been loved, Julie, and I'm sure that you will be loved again.  
Be well.  
James Wilson.

* * *

Wilson hit the _send _button and closed his laptop. Tiredly, he put it back onto the nightstand and laid his head onto the pile of soft pillows wedged behind his back.  
When he woke, the sun was rising on the hills and fields outside his window. House was dressing up for work in green hospital scrubs and a warm jacket to cross the road to the village clinic they had established in Blue Creek, Mississippi, in June. After a month on the road with their bikes, a simple phone call from Foreman had uncovered House's state from the dead to the living. House had hung up with a smile on his face and the certainty of his secret being safe with Foreman.

"Hey," House sat down gently on the edge of the mattress. He placed a hand onto Wilson's forehead. "Hi. It's okay. You raised a fever during the night. I'm going to work now, but I'll be checking on you every couple hours."

Wilson lay motionless in bed, covered in quilts. He was deeply prostrated but his eyes were glaring at his friend.

"You were here all night."

"Of course you moron, you couldn't even walk to the toilet. Or stagger to the toilet." House looked away for a moment, blinking away some unwanted mist in his stare. "I'm not up for a change of sheets. Not again." He joked.

Wilson raised a feeble smile.

"I'm exhausted." He whispered.

"It's okay. We don't need to talk." House adjusted the pillows wedged behind Wilson's head and shoulders, then he helped him lie back down. "Get some rest."

Wilson closed his eyes.

"We do need to talk." He declared, soon enough for House to turn back from the doorstep to the bedroom and come by his bedside again.

"For god's sake, Wilson. Shut up. We're short on oxygen here."

Wilson smiled.

"I'm not gonna need much more, I promise."

"That wasn't even remotely funny."

"I can picture..." Wilson took the oxygen mask to his face and breathed in, fully and intensely. "I can picture Foreman packing all this stuff for us." He paused. "Wondering how much longer he's gonna act illegal for me." He giggled. "Foreman. _Of all people._"

House walked up to the opposite side of the king-sized bed and plopped down beside Wilson, hands entwined behind the back of his head.

"I fixed his wobbly table." He declared. "He's gonna keep our secret."

"I know." Wilson whispered. "You have chosen wisely."

"Ever doubted that?"

"No."

"Good."

"House."

"Yeah."

"I'm not gonna be around much longer."

"Big news."

"No... I mean..." Wilson hesitated. "It's happening."

"..."

"Seriously, House. This... this thing is everywhere. It's in my lungs. At least."

"I know, mister CAT scan." House tried his best to maintain his attitude.

"If I go..." Wilson got short of breath and paused. "Geez." He breathed again into the oxygen mask. "If... that happens," He realized he could not take the mask off his face without getting dizzy and tried to sit. House turned to help him up.

"Will you please keep quiet?" He scolded him gently. "This is ridiculous. You're still gonna be here in an hour, when your oxygen sats are back up to a decent level." He flashed a concerned look at the heart rate monitor. "I'll listen to your nonsense then. Not now."

Wilson sat in silence, panting into the mask as House sustained him with his right arm around his shoulders and the left one holding the breathing apparatus in place.

"Just... I've loved you, House." He whispered. "Remember that."

"Here we go." House raised his stare up to the ceiling, eventually finding some privacy there to hold out a single, prickly tear that rolled down his left cheek, unseen. "Congratulations. You've just wasted a minute of oxygen to get cheesy with me."

Wilson glanced up at him for a moment, then fell back into a heavy sleep.  
House stood and limped out the room, flashing the saddest of glances to his sleeping friend.

–

The day after, once again House woke up beside Wilson. The rain was pouring so hard he couldn't hear his own thoughts. The wall clock called it an early morning but it was so dark that it still looked like the sun hadn't risen. Despite the storm being full-on all around him, House felt safe under that wooden roof battered by heavy rain and winds: it was the very noise that comforted him, eliciting distant memories of his childhood in Holland, at his grandmother's place, during the few summers he had spent with her before she passed. Rain. It was the same everywhere: Holland, Princeton... Blue Creek, Mississippi. Same noise, same appearance, same drops glued to the window panes, holding on to the glass before dissolving forever, one into the other. Just like death. Just like dying. Did the cloud miss its raindrops once they were torn from it? Did the cloud feel lighter, somehow? Or lonelier? Would it retain them forever if it could, or else would it give in to the endless cycle of the waters, in and out of sky and sea? Did the raindrop preserve the memory of being a raindrop, once rejoined with its kind where all the raindrops go? Was there a purpose or even just meaning, in lying there and contemplate eternity, when all we are is an end waiting to happen, with no sea to swim at, no sky to be breathed into?

Upon a twinge of dull pain choking his right forearm, House turned aside to the sight of his hand in Wilson's, arm twisted to accommodate his friend's hold, tight and intertwined with his own on his chest.

"Wilson." He whispered. "Hey."

House delicately freed his arm, his index and middle fingers sliding up in search for a pulse. But the pale skin on Wilson's neck did not welcome his touch with the reassuring warmth of life.

A bout of panic climbing up his chest, House's mind scrambled to grasp a piece of imagery of their last moments, words, glances.

"_I've loved you, House. Remember that."_

"_Here we go. You've just wasted a minute of oxygen to get cheesy with me."_

And that was it, twenty-four hours earlier. House wondered if Wilson had a feeling that he wouldn't wake from that sleep he had fallen into just after those words. Their entire exchange appeared like he had indeed, and House felt the utter weight of denial crushing his shoulders. His rational mind had shut down to let him believe they could go on like that forever, that Wilson's eyes would blink open once again after a good night's sleep, tucked in safely and cared for by his only true soulmate.

Tiredly, House stood up and walked to the kitchen, his cane tapping the wooden floor at the slowest pace.

* * *

A/N - Part 3 is already a thing, I promise. Thanks all for the fantastic reviews, and especially Betz88 because I haven't gotten reviews like that since the times of Do No Harm and Return to Innocence. It made me overly emotional because House being "a thing" is so far away in life and time for me at this moment, even though it ended just about two years ago, that such heartfelt reviews now leave me both surprised and very glad that people still feel enough interest to even read a story they normally wouldn't read ;)


	3. Chapter 3

_Letter Two_

October, 2012

House,  
I'm lost for words that this child of yours is actually a very sane, balanced adult and not some screwed-up hippie didgeridoo-blower of sorts. Julie is great and her adoptive parents did a good job silencing that stupid genetics of yours... and Cuddy's. She's moving to India to do U.N. work, and you're not going to be her dad anyway because she's 27 and has a life of her own. So I beg you, be gentle. Be honest with her. I know you're probably too shocked at this point, but don't hate on Cuddy for keeping Julie a secret. She was probably a scared 18 year-old, and you disappeared from her for years to come. Please, find her. Help Julie. She needs to know who she is.  
And, House... If you can, help yourself. I don't know how this whole matter is going to unfold, but please, don't waste a chance for change. And forgive my silence all these months. I heard you cry from time to time when you thought I was sleeping. It's still better than overdosing Vicodin or slitting your wrists, and I know you'd never do that while I'm still here. But I see your despair, and I am utterly sorry to cause such pain to you, and this hurts me more than my own physical ailment. I don't want to die, and this is about my own, human fear of the unknown. But beside my fear of death, I suffer to see you like this, to see the sadness that my dying is causing you, the fear and the brave face you put up. I once asked you to tell me that you loved me, but I already knew you do. And this time is for me to tell you that I love you more than any person in my life, and it breaks my heart that I'm gonna leave you like this. I couldn't add any emotional burden to these few months we've had by bringing up such a delicate matter as Julie's existence. And although not being brave enough to tell you is shameful of me, I didn't want to mention Julie just to have her come here before I went. She'd never have been the center of the picture, like she should be.  
Thank you for being my friend. I love you.  
Wilson.

House folded up the printed paper sheet in what seemed like an eternity. Holding it with both hands, his cane laid against the doorframe, he couldn't help his own appalled expression: eyes fixed into the young woman standing soaked under the rainfall, he had to control the shaking of his fingers as he grasped the handle of his cane in a choke-hold. Without saying a word, he stood back to let her into the cabin.  
Julie moved a step inside, uncertain whether her own feelings were going to burst out in some unexpected reaction or boil up inside her, hidden to the man that was now gently closing the door to what seemed to her like a very stylish, cozy refuge from the apocalyptic pour that was battering the fields and that village to which she had driven for hours, rehearsing the upcoming conversation in a way that she had forgotten the moment she had knocked on the wooden door.  
"He gave this to you."  
Julie jolted at House's words. He turned to her, not a smile curving his lips, not the shadow of a feeling coming from his eyes and body language. House was standing there, leaned against that cane of his – she wondered what was with it –, his free arm holding out Wilson's letter, and the flat pitch of his question lingering on between them.  
"He..." Julie swallowed. "Yes. He emailed me... a year ago. I think... I think he died shortly after."  
"He did." House replied throatily.  
"I know. I was at the funeral." She whispered.  
"You...?" House gestured vaguely. "In _Princeton_?"  
"Yeah." Julie smiled. "It was lovely. He was loved."  
"He was." House lowered his stare. They stood in silence. Julie felt the nails of her right hand clutching the palm of her left, in a strange mixture of numbness and pain.  
"Look... I, uh." She bit her lower lip. "I can go if you want. I just had to give you the letter. I'm sorry if this wasn't the right time."  
"It is never the right time." House replied. "Wilson is dead. No time is the right time. Ever."  
"I'm sorry." Julie grabbed her umbrella and cracked the door open. "Take care."  
That said, she walked out in the rain. House stood frozen, incapable of collecting meaningful thoughts as to why someone claiming to be his child had been able to cross that threshold, and give him something from his own late best friend, a _letter _mentioning things they had never even remotely discussed, events that he had ignored _all his life _that involved someone he hadn't seen or talked to or even heard of in two years, but whom he had known and worked with for twenty, without her ever mentioning that _this person _existed somewhere in the world and that she was their blood. And of all people _alive_ on Earth, even _in death _Wilson had managed to manipulate his life into something he had felt was going to help him cope.  
_For god's sake, Wilson._

The door busted open.  
"You know what, actually?" Julie was standing on the doorstep once again, this time without even bothering with an umbrella. "I dumped my fiancé to find you, you know?" She declared. "I went to _fucking India _for _one year_, knowing that you were _fucking dead. _Your friend _cried_ for you. I left him dying and grieving and now _you're here and he's not, _and you _owe _him," She swallowed her tears. "If not for me, you owe _him_ to bother with me for five minutes of your life, because I'm the one who was given up for adoption, and you didn't know about me,"  
"Julie..."  
"...And you didn't know about me and _it's okay_ to be upset," She joined her hands "but please, please please _don't.._." Julie lowered her stare. "Do _not_ ignore me. _Please_."  
They stood there, stares fixed into each other's, for a few seconds. By the time House had invited her in again, Julie knew already that things were going to be different this time around. She felt reassured by House's eye-contact, and this time all she could read in his expression was some sort of fragility and the the scars of a long-lasting grieving process that she knew wasn't really over for him.  
The two of them found themselves standing in the cabin once again, but this time something was telling Julie that there was going to be an actual conversation.  
"So what's with this India thing"  
"What's with the cane"  
House giggled, a light blow of air coming out his nostrils in amusement.  
"Bad choices." He snarked.  
"Me too." Julie replied.  
"Did _she_ name you Julie?"  
"Yeah."  
"Good grief."  
"What."  
"Her sister's name's Julia. That's... _creative_."  
"Yeah..." Julie shrugged.  
"I like it."  
She saw the first shadow of a genuine smile forming on House's lips.

* * *

**One year earlier**

The phone rang. The Dean dropped his pen and grabbed the receiver.  
"Foreman."

"House? Is that you?"  
"Yeah."  
Foreman knew instantly.  
"When?"  
"I just woke up, found him. Think he just... let go. Respiratory arrest. I was asleep."  
"Are you okay?"  
"No."  
Foreman rubbed his chin with his free hand. He was expecting the news any day now, but somehow the actual moment tasted bitterer, dryer.  
"House, you're not thinking this is your fault, are you?" He asked.  
"I don't know."  
"Because... _It's not._" Foreman stood up and walked up to the window. It was a beautiful, sunny day outside, breezy enough for a few golden leaves to whirl about in the air.  
On the other end, no sound came.  
"House. 'You still there?"  
"Yeah. I'm here."  
"Good. Look, I need to know that you're going to be okay." He paused. "Are you?"  
"I think so."  
"I'll send someone over to pick him up. How's the clinic going?"  
"Closed for the day." House whispered.  
"Just make sure everyone is okay."  
"They have my number."  
"Okay then... I guess..." Foreman had focused on some invisible point beyond the trees he could see from his window. "I am so very sorry, House."  
"I know."  
Then, House hung up, leaving Foreman standing there, feeling the carpeted floor below his soles getting colder and harder, and Princeton Plainsboro Teaching Hospital getting a bit lonelier, a bit sadder than it had ever been. It didn't take him too long to make his decision. He felt like going behind House's back with it, but in a good way. In a way that was going to give him a choice.  
_

"Are you _fu_... _are you kidding me?!_" Chase was facing Foreman, arms spread, eyes popped out, shaking his head in disbelief. "How the hell did he manage that?"  
"He tampered with evidence. Switched the dental records and a couple labels here and there."  
"He's going to jail." Chase whispered. "After all he's done, this is gonna destroy him."  
"It's not."  
"How? And..." Chase was now pacing the room. "Why the hell haven't you told _me?"  
_"He trusted me with it. I..." Foreman sat down tiredly. "I had records of his last patient, the drug addict. After the funeral, I learned that he was alive. _And_."  
"And _what_"  
"I went back to the coroner's office."  
"And you told him you made a mistake?" Chase raised his brow. "I'm wondering how you pulled that."  
"I didn't exactly..." Foreman paused. At this point, making Chase apart of his secret was going to bring him down with him in case things went south. But he knew they wouldn't. Not now, not anymore. "I _broke into_ the coroner's office."  
"Jesus, Foreman. _Jesus._" Chase turned back to him, hands on his hips. "I... I can't... are you out of your mind? _You're_ _in charge of this place._ You're not House."  
"No, you're right. I'm not. But I care about him."  
Chase shook his head, resigned. "I'm not sure I wanna hear the rest. Better keep a cyanide pill ready in case we get arrested."  
"You're going to want to hear it. Because I switched the records back before they got issued to the city hall."  
"I can't _fucking_ believe that." Chase whispered.  
Foreman felt a rush of warmth to his hands and cheeks as he was finally, liberatingly making another living soul apart of what he had done.  
"You remember I went to the coroner after the fire... With Wilson. And we got the dental records and I saw... I was the one who officially recognized the body. Even though...well." Foreman hesitated. "I had the death certificate in my office for counter-signature. Once I learned the truth, it took a minute to scan the paper and make a modified copy. With the right name on it. And sign it."  
"And give it to the coroner."  
"Exactly. I switched back the dental records and then came back to him and offered to take the paperwork to the funeral home so they could do what they had to with it."  
"And the funeral home issued the whole thing to the city hall..."  
"...And the city hall registered the death of House's patient, instead of House's. It was a matter of hours."  
"You're evil."  
"I saved his life."  
"The irony." Chase plopped down on the couch and tied his head back. "It's kind of amazing though. That he's pulled such an epic prank on all of us. Except you."  
"Guess he was worried I'd kill myself with guilt."  
"You'd never appreciate the beauty of such evil ideas. You'd rather know the truth and be alone with your secret, than have a good laugh later."  
They laughed.  
"He's alive, Chase. And he's all by himself. What would he do if he had no bank account, no ID, passport, name? Just to get five months with a dying friend."  
"I wouldn't say _just._"  
"But that's what it was. An insane idea. He got lucky that I have criminal records."  
"Juvenile."  
"Whatever. I tampered with the papers and made it right. And he can still practice medicine. Be House."  
"That's..." Chase smiled. "Lovely. What you did for him."  
"I know. I owe him. We all do."  
"Yeah. We do."

* * *

"So, he saved your life." Julie smiled. "You seem to have good friends after all."  
"I'm not sure I deserve them." House whispered.  
"Come on. Self-pity doesn't suit you." Julie declared.  
"How would you know."  
"Because..." She stood up from the couch and went to get the kettle off the fire. She poured boiling water into two red mugs and brought them to the coffee table. House eyed them suspiciously.  
"What's that." He interrupted her.  
"It's _tea. _You need to get off coffee for a while." She dropped a sugar cube into her cup. "You're not solving puzzles anymore. And I would know because I've been here three days and you haven't mentioned your leg once. That's how I know."  
"You look more and more like Wilson. 'You sure Cuddy didn't..." He gestured vaguely. "After all they've always gotten along pretty well."  
"Shut up." She laughed. "You're the guy. Wilson was cute, but it'd make me extremely unfortunate to have two dead fathers." Her eyes saddened.  
"I'm sorry I mentioned that."  
"It's okay."  
"So how was he? Your dad." House felt the words leaking off his lips before he could even think about how and if he really wanted to hear the answer. After all, was that any of his business, when he had been unaware of the mere existence of this person until three days earlier? Julie sat back, holding the cup with both hands.  
"He was a theatre teacher in college and a computer guy in his spare time. People brought their hardware in to get fixed in our basement. He could fix anything."

House sat through Julie's story in silence.  
"My mother worked for the Department of Defense. She was an engineer, had top clearance with many projects... it eventually hit them as a couple..." Julie flipped her hair. "...that she had such an absorbing career. They were separated for a while." She put the cup back onto the table. "Until she got diagnosed with breast cancer. She tried to fight it alone because that's who she was, but then she couldn't keep it from him, and they got back together, and she was cured. Andrew was in third grade or something."  
"Your brother?"  
"Theology major in college, UC Berkeley. He's their birth son. I'm helping him through fees and stuff. This India job pays for that, and I get to save too."  
"You seem like a good person."  
Julie burst out laughing. "No." She got serious again, all of a sudden. "No. I'm not. I'm fearful. And cowardly. And I have a tendency for running away from... whatever good comes to my life."  
"It doesn't look like that." House smiled.  
"That's... because I don't want to look like a loser. To you."  
"Everybody lies. Doesn't make you any different from the rest of humanity."  
"So you think men are liars."  
"Yes, I do."  
"That's sad."  
"It's true. I don't give it a nuance of morality or anything. It's a matter of fact."  
"I was engaged to be married when my parents died in the car crash. A couple months after their funeral, my fiancé told me he wanted to tie the knot as soon as possible. Before I left for India."  
"And you stabbed him with the engagement ring."  
"I told him I wanted to find my birth parents first. And he helped me with that. He found you."  
"Wow."  
"He's a doctor. He was familiar with your scientific work, so when I mentioned your name and my birthplace in Michigan he was one-hundred percent sure it was you. The registry officer at the university ran a search based on your name for the years previous and subsequent to my birth, and only one result showed. You. It said you transferred in 1986. The year I was born."  
"You framed me." He joked. "So what happened to the guy? I see no ring on your finger."  
"I dumped him."  
"Oh."  
"He insisted I took some time off work, focused on our relationship, organize the wedding then go to India. He said he'd wait for me for however long I said I'd stay in Bombay, that there was nobody else he'd wanna be with, that I had to follow my dreams. Stuff like that."  
"It's clear to me that he was such an oppressive husband-to-be. Better be safe than sorry."  
Julie laughed. "You make it seem like I was a bitch to him."  
"Were you?"  
"He said that my search for you and my mother was going to destroy me. He said you two didn't matter to my life." Her eyes saddened. House peered at her through his crystalline blue stare.  
"Do we, Julie?" He asked.  
"I..." Her lips trembled. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to _know_. I... I think it was just that. But it was so _overwhelming_. I _needed_ to know."  
"And now it doesn't make that much of a difference."  
"Yes." She whispered. "Oh god, I'm so sorry..." She brought both hands to her forehead, raising her stare up to the wooden ceiling. "That was kind of awful to say."  
"Truth is awful."  
"I'm sorry."  
"Don't be. We've been strangers for 27 years. And... I know what it's like."  
"What"  
"To _need_... to know." House sat back. "I suck at leaving stuff alone. It's made me a truth junkie and pretty much socially challenged. People hate me because I can't lie."  
"Wilson loved you. That Foreman guy likes you to say the least. He lied to the police because of you. And the line of people waiting at your clinic... they all seem to look forward to seeing you."  
"I'm not sure I deserve any of that. I did things. Things I'm not proud of."  
"Like what."  
"I did drugs. All my life since..." He unwillingly lowered his stare to his right leg and the cane resting beside it. "Since _this_ happened."  
"What happened?" Julie whispered.

* * *

**Summer, 2000**  
"I love you..." Stacy whispered to his ear. But House was drifting away already, off to a journey in the realm of unconsciousness, farther and farther from the pain as the seconds went by. Stacy took his hand in hers and cried into their intertwined fists for endless minutes. Was it right to wish for something he did not want, to be that selfish? He would have despised her forever if she had forced the surgery on him: amputation wasn't clearly going to be a viable choice. Not for him. And so she had agreed to let him do as he wished, to let him slip into a coma to try and survive the acute phase of the pain. Though, what could she have done differently? Was anything really in her power? How selfish was _he _being, in sticking with the most mindless choice he could ever make, one that he would never advise any of his patients on? Despite knowing she was going to be with him every step of the way, nevertheless he wanted to make those steps harder for both of them. Stacy realized how much she loved House and how deeply she hated him for being stubborn over something that was going to affect her life as well as his. She wondered if he was really capable of the selflessness demanded by true love, and the only answer she managed to give to herself was that he wasn't, that he would jump off a cliff rather than admitting to his own denial that he was going to ruin his own life.  
"Hey."  
Stacy turned back.  
Cuddy walked in. The room was dark and she could smell despair and medicine in a deadly mixture. She felt hopeless for the two of them. House was being an idiot and never she would have advised any patient of hers on such a course of treatment. But what did she really know? He could be one step ahead of all of them, like he had always been one step ahead of everyone, like he would always be. Three years they had worked together before he was fired for being that one dangerous step ahead of any doctor in the department.  
_House is always right.  
_Cuddy couldn't keep her inner voice silent.  
_House must know.  
_Though this time she knew he wasn't, or that no one could foresee that he was. Not even him. Not this time, because he was the patient and she was his attending. Of all things she had wanted to be for him in the years they had known each other, she was now _his doctor. _The one she would never want to be. She felt like his enemy in a race or a challenge of sorts that they had engaged in, that of being right. If he was right, he'd wake up healed. If he wasn't, he'd wake up in the same insufferable pain he was in before the coma. Although that couldn't be.  
_It can't be. This can't possibly work.  
_Not this time. For once in a decade of epiphanies, House wasn't going to save this one life. Cuddy could almost feel the sharp and cold thrill of betrayal filing through her bones. She was going against him, behind him. One second time in their lives she had lied to him, she had omitted... She tried to force the image of a blue-eyed newborn out of her mind, her own fear in holding the baby, the instant realization that this would be her own thing, her own little tragedy. Back into another, sadder hospital room fourteen years later, Cuddy knew was going to act on a hunch against another hunch. She was going to be right. She had to.  
Stacy walked up to her. In their exchange of looks, they knew they were in it together. And they saw the love they both had for him.  
"The middle ground you were talking about? Give me the forms you need signed."  
Cuddy nodded. "You're saving his life."  
"He won't see it that way."  
"No, he won't."

* * *

"She's never ceased feeling guilty." House whispered.  
"But it wasn't her fault, was it?" Julie asked.  
"It wasn't. I got reperfusion injury: sometimes..." House swallowed a lump of unwanted pain. "Sometimes the tissue gets damaged in the process of repairing itself. It happens because blood... it can be toxic to certain cells. And destroy them." He exhaled. "Your mom chunked up a piece of muscle the size of my fist, and then my own blood poisoned the hole in my leg. I got chronic pain from the surgery."  
"You got addicted to painkillers."  
"I did." House admitted. "And I screwed up my life."  
"You saved a lot of lives though."  
"I did."  
"Then." Julie smiled. "Then I think you didn't screw up anything. You're worth more than your mistakes. We all are."  
"I don't know." House rubbed his scar. "I sure treated someone worse than they deserved."  
"Like whom?"  
"Like Wilson. So many times. And your mother."  
"Wilson didn't seem like a victim to me." She declared. "If they stayed, it means they liked having you around."  
They sat in silence for a while.  
"I love her." House whispered.  
Julie raised her stare up from the tea cup to him. "Who."  
"Cuddy. I love her. I screwed up because I thought she was gonna die."  
"I'm not sure I'm following."  
The hills darkened, and a full moon rose to watch the windows lighting up. For the first time in a long period of silence, House felt like his soul was getting lighter and that this woman sitting in front of him was after all going to be his friend. Once again, he began to talk. And his life flowing like that, word after word in a stream of eventual, relieving consciousness, wasn't causing him any shame, and any frowning in Julie. He realized that empathy and rationality and tolerance could live in the soul of someone that was his own blood, and that his lifelong fear of being judged, his awareness that so many in his life had seemed to judge him, were after all probably just human, natural concerns. And that he wasn't any different or any worse than anyone else. Julie sat through House and Cuddy's story with a pillow propped up to her chest. When House got to the last time he had seen Cuddy, in court the day of the hearing when he had plead guilty, she knew that some of her unanswered questions were now going to be folded up and put aside like winter quilts at the first breeze of spring. Imperfection and error and awful truths didn't hurt after all like death hurts, because compared to it no mistake in life can stay unforgiven if it means the delay of a goodbye. She saw that in House's eyes when she caught him eyeing at a picture of Wilson and him that was hanged to the wall behind the couch she was sitting in. She knew herself what missing someone meant. She felt a connection to House, something deeper than the possibility of a friendship. She respected him and she could see through him because – she found – they were more similar due to nature than different due to nurture. And that was okay. It was mind-blowing and okay. It was real and it didn't – it couldn't – take away any of the pain they had suffered in both their lives. But it was fresh and new and comforting, and Julie knew she was going to be fine after all, that she was going to call Jake and tell him they were going to be fine if he still wanted, and go to India and keep messing up and living through it.  
House sat back.  
"So. That's it." He declared. "I know it kind of sucks."  
"Truth sucks."  
"You learn fast."

* * *

**One month later.**  
"So this is the place." Julie whispered.  
"Looks like it." House limped to the mailbox. Leaning against it, eyes screwed in the sun, he casually glanced at the large bow-window facing the front yard. "It's just like her Princeton home. Talk of moving on."  
Julie locked the car doors and dropped the remote in her purse. Hands on her hips, she stood there, peering at House. "No one ever moves on." She declared. House turned back to her.  
"You think so?"  
"I don't know. I..." She smiled. "I just don't think we ever _forget. _Anything. It just gets easier."  
She crossed the street and stood beside House, facing Cuddy's window. She placed a hand on his shoulder.  
"It _will_ get easier. I promise it will."  
"I don't want her to hate me. And... I don't want to forget Wilson."  
"She has a right to. But she won't. And... You won't."  
"What you said..." He turned to her, eyes fixed into hers. "I'm afraid to let go."  
"You have to. She changed you. And Wilson did."  
"People don't change, Julie."  
She tilted her head back, staring into the sky. "They just don't know they do."  
They stood in silence for a while. Then, they walked up to the door and rang the bell.

Cuddy stood from the kitchen table at the ring of her doorbell. She had been waiting for days. She had cried a lot, cringed a lot, hated House a lot... Loved House a lot. Longed for seeing her first born, hearing about the life she had, knowing about the woman she had become. Though she feared Julie would hate her, she wished to whatever she held dear that she wouldn't. She made a mental note to call Foreman, reassure him House and Julie were eventually there.  
Wilson's third letter lay on the table, half-worn and wrinkled after many reads.


End file.
